Coming Home
by tpel
Summary: Robert comes home from the hospital. Spoilers through Season 9. Cordano friendship. Features Gretel!


Coming Home  
  
Elizabeth waited patiently while Robert fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the door. The drive home from the hospital to Robert's house had been uneventful. Walking from the car to the front door, Elizabeth noted that Robert was steady enough on his feet. But he moved slowly. Waiting for him was a strange experience for Elizabeth, recalling how she often had to practically run to keep up with him as he charged through the halls of County.  
  
More disturbing was how quiet he had become since the re-amputation surgery. Well, really, compared with most people he wasn't especially quiet. If she had just met Robert now, she would probably describe him as only mildly withdrawn. But compared with his baseline - relentlessly gregarious, dominating every social interaction, in love with the sound of his own voice - the change was striking. Elizabeth hoped that this "backing off" from social encounters was part of the normal process of healing from the traumatic year he'd been through. She smiled ruefully for a moment, wondering if it was even possible to apply the concept "normal" to Robert Romano.  
  
Inside the house, Elizabeth put down the bag she was carrying. She watched as Robert carefully shrugged out of his jacket. He grinned at the nearly deafening barking that had started as soon as they opened the door. Thinking ahead, Elizabeth had shut Gretel in the back of the house before picking up Robert at the hospital. The last thing he needed was to be bowled over by a hundred-plus pounds of dog and end up back in the ER!  
  
"Maybe you should sit down while I release the hounds," Elizabeth suggested.  
  
"Last time I checked there was only one of them. Do you and Gretel have something you wanna tell me, Lizzie?" Robert replied, smiling softly.  
  
"Any dog that large counts as two in my book," Elizabeth called over the din, walking back to release Gretel from her captivity.  
  
Fortunately, Robert had heeded Elizabeth's advice and was seated on the couch when Gretel came bounding toward him. She put her giant paws on his knees and licked his face frenetically. He didn't seem to mind, laughing a little at her excitement and turning his face to the side when she licked too close to his mouth. Elizabeth could have sworn that, despite her enthusiasm, the dog was being careful not to hurt Robert. "I must be projecting," thought Elizabeth, "she's not that bright." Perhaps the sprinkling of silver and white hairs that now framed Gretel's snout contributed to the illusion of wisdom.  
  
"Good girl. Take it easy now. Yeah I missed you too . . ." he murmured, stroking her thick dark fur.  
  
After a few minutes, Gretel's frenzy died down. Robert looked like he was running out of energy too. It was only about 7 in the evening, but Elizabeth knew, from talking with the nurses, that he hadn't been sleeping well at the hospital. She hoped he would be able to rest easier in his own bed.  
  
"You ready to lie down?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," he nodded, "after I take a bath."  
  
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it with "Yes, I know, a quick one and I'll keep the dressing dry . . . happy?"  
  
"Fine," she smirked.  
  
"You're welcome to join me if you want . . ." he teased as he made for the stairs. He missed seeing her roll her eyes in response.  
  
While Robert was in the bathroom, Elizabeth unpacked some of the things she'd brought home from the hospital. She counted out the medications that Robert needed to take that evening, and put an extra dose of pain medication in a Dixie cup, intending to place it on his bedside table in case he woke up during the night and needed it. Though Elizabeth was staying the night in the guest room, she knew it was just like Robert to suffer rather than admit he was in pain and wake her up for help. And she wasn't sure he would be in a state to wrestle with the prescription bottles by himself just yet.  
  
Elizabeth heard the bathroom door open and heard movement upstairs. She went up a few minutes later, bearing medicine and water. Robert was sitting on the end of his bed dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Elizabeth caught herself staring at the left arm of the T-shirt, which ended at almost exactly the same place that Robert's arm now did. Fortunately, Robert didn't notice her staring. He looked completely knackered, like he might fall over at any minute.  
  
"You OK?" she asked gently, touching his shoulder.  
  
"Mmm-hmm," he nodded.  
  
Realizing that a conversation was not in the cards, she held out the medicine toward him and smiled, "I have some nice drugs for you."  
  
Robert accepted the medication with a weak grin, then the water. Then he slowly moved to lie down under the covers. He closed his eyes, but didn't seem quite ready to sleep yet. Elizabeth decided to keep him company for a little while. She sat down in a nearby chair and began flipping through a journal she found on the table. Both of them jumped when the phone rang.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
"Hello?" Elizabeth said into the phone. "Hi Kerry. Yes, we're OK. No problems." She covered the receiver of the phone with her hand and asked Robert, "You want to talk to Kerry?"  
  
He made a face. "Say something rude to her for me."  
  
Elizabeth smiled wryly, thinking of how she was trying, lately, NOT to be rude to Kerry Weaver. She knew that her distaste for Kerry was by no means baseless, but realized that her ire towards the woman was out of proportion to the wrongs Kerry had done. In any case, cockroach analogies aside, Kerry did seem to have some genuine concern for Robert's welfare - which was more than most people at the hospital had. She would never like Kerry, but at least she could be civil.  
  
Elizabeth took the phone over to the other side of the room so that Robert could rest. After a brief conversation, she came back to hang up the phone on the bedside table. Robert was still awake, staring at nothing. When Elizabeth approached, he looked up at her briefly. Then he looked away again, staring back into space. In that moment of eye contact, Elizabeth was struck by how unguarded and fragile Robert appeared. There was deep despair in his eyes, but, more than that, she got the sense that he was simply overwhelmed. It was like he couldn't even wrap his mind around what he was feeling, and he was too mentally exhausted to try.  
  
Elizabeth pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down. Robert was lying with his left side closest to her. His right arm was folded across his stomach, on top of the covers. She put her hand on top of his, curling her fingers around toward the palm of his hand. He closed his hand, grasping her fingers lightly. Elizabeth knew from past experience that it was highly unlikely that Robert would talk about what was going on inside his head. She felt that the only thing she could do for him was let him know that he wasn't alone. They sat together quietly, weathering the storm.  
  
Robert brought his gaze back toward Elizabeth, but instead of looking at her face he looked down at her hand on his. After a little while, he looked up again, his expression weary but carefully neutral. Elizabeth knew that he was running away, that he could only stand to let himself feel his loss - and grieve - in short doses. Guiltily, she admitted to herself that she was relieved when such episodes were over. The intensity was hard for her to endure.  
  
"Lizzie?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Could you get me my CD player? There's a little portable one on the shelf on top of the big one in the living room. There's a rack of CDs next to it."  
  
"OK. What do you want to listen to?"  
  
"Surprise me."  
  
Elizabeth wasn't sure if he really wanted the CD player, or if he just wanted to give them both something else to think about. But whatever the reason, she was grateful for the distraction. She walked downstairs into the living room and was startled by a dark shape brushing past her -- then she remembered, "Oh, it's just Gretel."  
  
While browsing through Robert's large and eclectic collection of CDs, Elizabeth heard a sharp creaking sound coming from upstairs. Was that the bedsprings? Was Robert getting up? Not long ago he had seemed too tired to even sit up straight let alone walk around, and anyway she didn't hear footsteps. "Must not hover," she told herself. Robert had been unusually tolerant of her telling him what to do; she feared she would blow it if she started "fussing" more than necessary.  
  
A few minutes later, as Elizabeth reached the top of the stairs with the CDs and player, a new thought struck her.  
  
"You're not letting that beast on the bed with you, are you?" she inquired.  
  
No answer.  
  
"Robert?"  
  
She looked into the bedroom and saw that her suspicion was correct. Gretel was lying on the bed on Robert's right side. His arm was wrapped loosely around her neck, and her chin rested on his shoulder. Elizabeth could tell immediately that Robert was deeply asleep. His body was completely relaxed, his mouth closed loosely, his breathing slow and steady.  
  
Elizabeth was taken aback at the idea of having a dog in bed with a patient who was recovering from major surgery. It just didn't seem sanitary.  
  
"Come on Gretel," she said softly, tugging at her collar, "Off." She hoped to extricate the dog from Robert's grasp without waking him up.  
  
Gretel sat up a bit, slowly pulling away from her master. Robert didn't wake, but he frowned and made a small, barely audible, sound of protest. Gretel reversed course, lying back down. Robert's hand resumed its place around her neck, and his face resumed its tranquil expression.  
  
The dog placed her massive head on Robert's chest and looked up at Elizabeth. Gretel's eyes conveyed that perfect mixture of stubborn resolve and pitiful pleading that only dogs and toddlers can achieve. Elizabeth caved in to the canine's persuasive powers. The amputation site had healed well, and the area was wrapped securely. The chances were very slim that Gretel's presence would do Robert any harm. And Elizabeth didn't have the heart to deny him the comfort that he obviously got from having her there.  
  
"OK Gretel, you win," she sighed, "But no sniffing. Or licking. Or drooling. And certainly no chewing."  
  
Gretel looked at her quizzically.  
  
"You're just lucky I have a soft spot for my former patients. Even the VERY hairy ones . . ."  
  
THE END. 


End file.
